


Ireland Awaits

by macgyvershe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Funny Fluffy, Give it some love, M/M, Must Read, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 16:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13931094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: John is packing. Sherlock is chemistrying. (Yeah, I know that isn't a word) Time is ticking and Ireland Awaits. But what about the rest of us?? Funny, fluffy one shot that has some Brit speak, some sexy bits but no explicit sex. Got it?





	Ireland Awaits

**Author's Note:**

> If you find sexual talk an issue please do not read further. I do not write explicit sex for the reason that so many people believe that sex is all about dominance and submission. This is blatantly untrue in my opinion. If you believe otherwise, please find other authors to read to fulfill your particular fantasy. Thanks.

“Sherlock.” John’s put upon voice is not unlike his inside voice only snarkier. “We actually have a time schedule here.”

John is in Sherlock’s room as he methodically packs both his and Sherlock’s travel bags for their journey to Ireland. He has several lists that he consults often. Shaking his head, he hopes that he’s thought of everything they might need.

“John.” Sherlock attired in his chemistry protective gear, goggles, gloves and apron, is holding a flask that is emitting smokey vapors in one hand and a pair of tongs containing a wriggling piece of something green and glowing in the other. “Was that today?”

John lowers his head to his chest. Then lifting it back up he glares at Sherlock. “Is that alive?”

“Define alive?” Sherlock returns.

“You know Sherlock, we don’t have time for your experiments to interfere with our trip.”

“Fine.” Sherlock huffs and disappears into the kitchen where a loud crash happens just moments later.

“It’s okay, I’m okay. The lino can be replaced.” Sherlock assures John.

John worries that he will find an end to his dwindling patience and smack his better half into the next week, but wait how would that work? John would just have to run to keep up with the daft bugger.

His inner dialog always comes back to that question of his inability to live without his genius level idiot. John is aware that he is addicted to Sherlock Holmes and this is no small admission.

Closing the two travel bags and locking them up. He moves them from the top of the bed to the floor. 

Sherlock enters the bedroom. A knowing smile wafting across his lips as he divests himself of his protective gear, throwing them into a box marked toxic waste.

“John, you are thinking so hard I can hear it from the kitchen.”

“You know for an exasperating arse, you can be extremely vexing.”

“Vexing. That’s a word you don’t hear very much any more.” Sherlock pulls a face which can be endearing and creepy at the same time.

Abandoning his captain mode, John gets in Sherlock’s face, forcing him down to John’s level and planting a preposterous kiss on Sherlock’s beyond sexy lips.

John likes the way that he affects Sherlock. The consulting smartarse always melts into these emotional situations. A looseness of the limbs and the instantaneous shut down and closure of the Mind Palace always fascinates him.

The kiss is going from sloppy hot to lava molten in increments of two to the 20th power.

“Holy crap.” John pulls away from the kiss before he suffers from severe hypoxia. 

Sherlock isn’t having it. Moving to surround John with his larger body and at the same time gently guiding John backwards toward the bed. John giggles at the transparency of his lovers actions

John is once again overtaken with kiss after kiss; each more possessive and invigorating as the last. There are long, loving arms engulfing him. Agile hands and deft fingers removing his, now confining and overly heat provoking clothing.

Taking a moment to completely disrobe, Sherlock is on John like a bird sky diving toward his worm dessert. 

(-_-)

John and Sherlock lay sticky and spent on the totally rumpled bed. 

“It’s your turn to do the clean up.” Sherlock side eyes John without moving his head.

John huffs a breath and forces himself upon to his elbows. “Why don’t I just take this glass of water on the side table and dump it on you?” 

“You wouldn’t?” Sherlock glares at John with an ‘I dare you stare.’

John lifts said glass of water and lets it float dangerously close to Sherlock. 

Sherlock freaks, hauling ass out of the bed and into the loo to discuss this topic with a nice hot shower.

John places the glass back in its place of honor on his bedside table. Lying back down for just a moment, he then brings himself back up to the sitting position with his body complaining about not wanting to leave the luxury of their love nest.

Standing John steps toward the end of the bed. 

“Cor blimey – bastard my life.” John sees the two travel bags on the floor along with their hastily discarded clothing.

Looking to the clock on Sherlock’s side of the bed. He sees that their travel plans should have been instigated two hours ago. Plopping down on the bed, swiping his hands through his face and then raking them back through his hair. John is kicking himself. His plans, his travel arrangements, all of them out the fricking door. Out the flaming, fricking door.

“Sherlock!” It’s then that John is aware of the shower sounds and solo singing coming from the loo meaning that Sherlock can not hear him no matter how much he roars.

“Oh buggering hell.” John flops back onto the bed. His left arm coming up to cover his eyes. 

Shower sounds abate and Sherlock appears nude and moist in the bedroom doorway. As he is drying his body he comes over to stand over and drip on John as he bestows a feather soft kiss to John’s temple.

John makes an exasperated noise, peeking up at Sherlock.

“I denote the sound of in extremis pain coming from you, John. Tell me the sex wasn’t THAT bad?” 

John has to smile and guffaw a bit at that. “No, you berk, you know you're the best. We’ve missed out connections. The trip to Ireland, remember?”

“Oh, is that all? Not to worry my dear, the journey is still on.”

“Sherlock, we should have left two hours ago.”

“I was aware of the time table that you had us standing on the precipice of. Everything has been sorted.”

“Wait, what? How is that possible?”

“It’s called rescheduling. You have heard of it John?” 

“When did this happen? How?” John snaps his mouth shut.

“Did you just have a horn dog moment and have your brother, the titular head of the British government, take care of it for us?”

“Very perceptive, John. I don’t know why you keep me around when your deductive skills are so sharp and eminently proficient. 

Grabbing Sherlock by his towel and swinging the larger man onto the surface of the bed. John then straddles Sherlock, picks up one of the pillows and begins pummeling the man beneath him. 

Laughing and giggling like maniacs. John continues to pillow fight Sherlock within an inch of his fluffy hair, while Sherlock, using the other pillow, shields himself from the punishing pillow onslaught.

Even though the two have just shagged each other wit-less. It seems that their refractory periods have synced and they are ready to have at it again.

“Sherlock,” John gasps as the brunette descends from on high. “Holy crow. Like that.”

John can’t think straight, up or down or sideways. 

“Sherlock!” John yells joyously.

“Ah, that’s what I want to hear. My name rushing across your sexy lips.” Sherlock comments as he moves to make John the happiest man on earth.

“Sherlock, Ireland!?!” John’s mind is having a hard time functioning, but the adult in him still wants to be able to meet their commitments. 

“Ireland awaits, my love, but unfortunately your Sherlock can’t say the same.”


End file.
